


Remains of Christmas

by LolaIbz



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F, Ficlet, I'm kinda on a writing streak, Might have a continuation, a bit of angst, or might not, or something like that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:13:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28689984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LolaIbz/pseuds/LolaIbz
Summary: Set before the reunion with Pippa during the school potions competition. Hecate reflects on the new year and the things to come.
Relationships: Hardbroom/Pentangle (Worst Witch)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	Remains of Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, it's me again! Unbelivable, two fics in a month, a major feat for me. Anyway, looking forward to your comments and hope you enjoy this sudden wave of inspiration that struck me this morning. Stay safe

Hecate Hardbroom was not one for procrastinating but honestly, she had been putting the insidious taks off for most of the morning. Well, that wasn't really hard given that there were still quite some things that needed tended to, even if the school was on winter break. But she wasn't particularly fond of the task at hand, she surmised as she eyed the dark green bundle through the window.  
Ada had deemed it a good idea. It'll raise the school spirits, she'd said, a closer look at the non-magical world's Yule celebrations and a nice decorative touch for the main hall, she'd argued. But now, the withering tree needed to be disposed of and Hecate couldn't refuse as the suggestion came from the headmistress herself. It was her assignment to have the green pile gone before the restart of classes.  
With a sigh she placed the last vial on the neatly rearranged shelf and took a look at her timepiece. It wouldn't do to keep delaying the matter. She strode determinedly out fo the classroom.  
The castle was eerily quiet, Ada having flown to some far relatives of her mother on the Scottish coast, Hecate was left the sole mistress of an empty kingdom. Not that she minded, she appreciated the peace and quiet, she had come to treasure them after a whole year surrounded by jittery children and Mildred Hubble's antics.  
Burn it, Ada had said, a bonfire for new starts (then added with a meaningful look that the potions mistress preferred to ignore).  
"The most I can wish for this year is that Mildred Hubble doesn't destroy the school... again" she grumbled as she stood before the hulking tree on the ground.  
She was not one for changes, she was a woman of habits, routines, carefully structured schedules that allowed her the gift of predictabilty. New starts usually meant new troubles, she had come to learn.  
She chanted a short quiet spell and without a second thought, snapped her fingers. The tree came alight enveloped in a light purple flame and began crumbbling in front of her.  
New starts were for people who seeked them, not for her, she had what she deserved and she was content to do her biding as potions mistress. Her life was a consequence of her actions and she'd abide by it.  
Not that she didn't have certain regrets, she had them galore. And she was reminded of them every single morning, when she woke up alone to her own scent instead of a tangled mess of lavender-scented blond curls. Every time she'd play chess with Ada, who was a decent match in her own right, but never quite as challenging as a certain cheerful blonde. Every evening she sneaked her fingers past her underwear and strived to get the so needed release, imagining that they were not her own fingers but the dainty skillful ones of her life-long love. Every time after that, when she laid spent but dissatisfied and a dreadful wave of shame and guilt flooded her entire being. Every late night or ungodly early morning, when she'd clutch a solitary pink ribbon desperately to her chest, trying not to weep out loud like a newborn, raw and unconsolable because sometimes melancholy is more than one can handle.  
The loud creak of the tree breaking in half and yielding under its own weight brought Hecate out of her reverie. The plant was but a burning cinder now, and ashes gathered around as if to contemplate their previous self. With another snap, the flame grew stronger and the tree ceased to be at once.  
She had made her decisions, she thought as the merciless winter gale swept away the pale remains of the plant, and she'd continue to make them in the future. She could only hold fast and pray that she could protect her home to the best of her capacities.  
Though at that time, she hadn't considered that it'd be her heart which needed protecting later that same year, for hearts are pretty much like trees. They catch fire with the smallest of flicks and it is quite painful to put a halt to that fire.


End file.
